


Thestrals

by greenapricot



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Order of the Phoenix (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-01-12
Updated: 2004-01-12
Packaged: 2018-05-01 08:13:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5198645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenapricot/pseuds/greenapricot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The unnamed other student who saw the Thestrals in OotP was Blaise. Draco can't let it go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thestrals

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted in 2004, a time before Louis Cordice was cast as Blaise when my headcanon Blaise was played by a young Jonathan Rhys-Meyers.

Fabric against leather. Pages turning.

“So, who died?”

“What?”

“Who died?”

“Again. What?”

“You saw them didn’t you?”

“I see no reason to answer you when you’re being so deliberately obtuse.”

“I see no reason for you not to answer me when you know full well what I’m talking about. You did see them.”

“See what, exactly?”

“The thestrals.”

Silence.

“So, who died?”

“Don’t you have Quidditch practice to go to?”

“No, that’s after lunch. Luckily I’m free until then.”

“Go amuse yourself then.”

“I am.”

“No,” wave of hand, “elsewhere.” 

Silence. Page turning.

“So, who died?”

Slowly and deliberately, like a knife being drawn from a scabbard with the intent to kill: “No one you know.”

“Oh come on, you can tell me.”

Sideways glance. “Can, yes. I _can_ do whatever the fuck I please, but that doesn’t include telling you things just because you’ve decided you need to know.”

“I don’t _need_ to know. I’ve got a right to.”

“That statement is so ridiculous I’m not even going to bother answering it.”

“You just did.”

Silence.

“Tell me.”

“Why do you feel such a need to know this anyway? What difference does it make?”

“If we are going to continue on as we have been I will need to know as much about you as possible.”

“You only want to know because I won’t tell you. For all you know it could have been a very traumatic experience for me, and here you are bringing it up right out of the blue. I could be scarred.”

A derisive snort. “I’m willing to take that risk.”

Silence. Pages turning. Creak of leather.

“So, who died?”

Book hits knee. Pointed glare. “How far are you planning on taking this?”

“Just to the point where I get what I want.”

“Which is?”

“To know who died.”

“And you want to know this because?”

“It interests me.”

“‘It interests you.’ Fabulous.”

“Do you have to be so difficult?”

“No, but I do enjoy it.”

“Oh, just answer the question.”

Page turning. Silence.

“So, who died?”

Heavy lidded glare. “Say that one more time and it’s going to be you.”

Silence.

“So, who died?”

Book flying past ear, smashing empty glass on table beyond. Hand on shirt, tie, shoulder, neck. Pulling forward. Then, through gritted teeth: “What _is_ your problem, Malfoy.”

“Problem? You seem to be the one who can’t keep his hands off me.”

A rough shake, a tightening of grip. “Do you wish to die? It could be arranged.”

Thinking. Twist of mouth into a smirk. “Not that I’m aware of, no.”

“Then what the fuck are you playing at?”

Unsuccessful effort to take a step back. Voice shaking slightly: “Just testing.”

A further tightening of grip. Fabric threatening to rip. A hiss: “Testing? Don’t push me, Malfoy. You don’t want to know how far I’ll go.” 

Glare boring into skull. Shove. A stumble over ottoman and sit down hard, half on half off. A retrieval of book as if he had meant all along to throw it to the other side of the room. As if it was just an excuse to stretch his legs. Not at all close to the edge. No. 

Fabric against leather. Pages turning.


End file.
